


aftg prompts and shit

by andrwmnyrds



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andreil, Angst, Drabbles, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, More characters to come, and relationships hopefully, i don't know how to tag, it's been a year and i'm still not over them, one shots, prompt fillers, send me tumblr prompts, the ultimate test for me as a writer, these books have taken over my life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 15:23:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11382927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrwmnyrds/pseuds/andrwmnyrds
Summary: this is so self explanatory do i rlly need a summarysend me prompts @ vincevangothh.tumblr.com





	aftg prompts and shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Neil and Andrew talking about touching and consent

Like most moments or conversations that hold even a sliver of significance, it starts on the roof. The autumn air is just cold enough to make skin hurt, just cold enough to be an anchor and remind them where they are, who they are, how things are - to stop them from sinking a little too deep into their own minds - and such sensation intermingled with that of each other’s presence is enough to leave Neil feeling so soft and safe he really can’t even try to suppress his smile as he shifts his body around to face Andrew, the crunch of gravel beneath him as he moves grounding him even more. He’s finally himself, finally able to smile at the notion of being completely himself, trying more and more to clutch tightly to that sense of self and it feels like flying, equally unequivocally freeing and undeniably terrifying.

Andrew’s eyes on him contrast the cool air, the gaze burning into his cheek as his left index finger reaches towards the other side of Neil’s face, digging into the flesh of his cheek hard enough to redirect his line of sight to Andrew. Neil finds himself once again trying to suppress a smile at the fact even Andrew Minyard wants attention sometimes, no matter how unconventionally he gets it, but this line of thought gets halted in its tracks when he hears the words “Yes or no?”

“It’s always yes with you,” is Neil’s default answer at this point; it comes slipping out of his mouth like a reflex. It’s enough - Andrew leans closer to him, his hands slide up to cup Neil’s face, it’s all very slow and sensual and the sunset makes everything feel eight times more wondrous and they’re so close he can see the blonde tips of Andrew’s eyelashes and even they are getting blurrier and it’s good. It’s really, really good.

But they don’t kiss. Their lips brush against each other and it’s uncharacteristically soft and warm and Neil’s just about to start applying more pressure even if it is against his better judgement when Andrew mutters “Stop saying stupid shit.” against his mouth before pulling back, leaving Neil cold and confused. And ever-so-slightly irritated, even if he knows he shouldn’t be and a horrible guilty feeling arises in his stomach at such a thought.

“We’ve had this discussion before,” he says boldly, eyes trained on Andrew’s as the hands on his face slide down to either side of his neck. “It’s hardly my fault that you can’t accept the truth.”

“I’m not the one with issues with the truth.” Andrew replies flawlessly, his face falling into a blank expression and his voice clear and bored all over again and Neil’s irritated at such a sudden regain of self-control and the recollection of such a topic again.

“I told you I’d stop lying to you. I promised.”

“And yet here we are.” Andrew’s hands slip away from Neil’s skin and the cold feels even more biting now, on areas that had just been almost on fire. He shifts until his body is facing the edge of the roof again, legs hanging off the side, no longer looking at or even acknowledging Neil’s presence - an easy indicator that he’s trying not to feel something for Neil again (his guess this time is annoyance).

“I’m not lying to you.”

“You are.” Andrew’s eyes map the sky. “‘Always’ is a lie.”

“‘Always’ is a word,” Neil snaps back.

“Words have meanings, idiot.” Andrew says, and it’s as close to acknowledgement as Neil knows he’s going to get. “‘Always’ isn’t trustworthy.”

“Why?” Something somewhere inside of Neil already knows the answer to this question, he thinks, but it seems necessary to ask anyway. He’s not always the greatest at judgement, apparently.

“I don’t trust you to say no.” Andrew replies, and there it is. Cards on the table. And now Neil finds himself turning away, legs hanging off the side of the roof and body facing outwards, watching the sky instead of the indeterminable expression on Andrew’s face, because it’s too much. Looking at Andrew is too much. There’s a horrible feeling rooted somewhere inside him that he can’t quite place but it feels like it’s about to consume him and there’s a lump in his throat. He wants to ask for more - for an explanation, but the words “I don’t trust you” have successfully rendered him utterly speechless. He remembers that feeling of smug pride that had filled him when his words had been enough to render Andrew speechless, and the thought is good but at the same time bittersweet. He can’t help but hope Andrew isn’t feeling that same sense of achievement.

Andrew’s legs are kicking, he notices, and it’s almost a good sign. There are parts of Andrew he can read like a book at this point, and kicking his legs puts him off balance. Enhances his fear. Makes him feel something. Allows him to claim any feeling his revelation has conjured up to be fear. Andrew may be unapologetically honest, but Neil had long since learned that this rule applied to everyone except Andrew himself. It’s one of his greatest flaws - as much as he won't admit it, he cannot accept certain truths about himself  
so he tries to find other ways to explain things, to trick himself into thinking the way he wants to. 

He’s also a man of few words, thus Neil expects the conversation to end there unless he can find his voice again and prompt him to continue. He knows for now that they're stuck at a stalemate, both of them too stubborn and too exhausted to try and continue such a tedious and meaningful conversation, and eventually the silence becomes much too raucous for Neil’s liking. He goes inside.

 

* * *

The conversation isn't brought up again until they go to bed. Andrew’s is already lying down with a book in his hand when Neil walks into the room, nose wrinkling momentarily to stop his glasses from sliding down his face, and that single movement is enough to make all of his frustration from the evening dissipate, until Andrew shifts backwards so his back is pressed firmly against the wall and he pulls the covers out in offering, his eyes never moving from the book. That single movement is enough for all of Neil’s confusion and probably misplaced annoyance to come hurtling back, and even though he accepts the olive branch and slides in next to Andrew, this time he can't hold his tongue. 

“If you don't trust me to say no,” he starts, eyes trained on Andrew to search for a hint of acknowledgement, to no avail, “then how can you trust me to say yes?” 

It’s probably harsh, he knows that, but it's a thought that can't leave his head and he's never quite been able to master the art of tactful speech - his form of tact comes in silence instead, usually.

Andrew places the book down on his lap, closes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair and it's the closest to a loss of control that Neil’s seen from him all day. His heart thumps a little louder. 

“I don't know if I can.” He replies, his tone not quite as even as he seems to have tried to make it, betraying the sense of resignation curled around the words. But it's not enough - perhaps Neil is a junkie after all because he finds himself needing more, needing better, and he feels absolutely pathetic, but he says something anyway.

“But you have been.” 

“It's not that I don't trust you,” Andrew’s response is so immediate that it startles Neil slightly. They’re facing each other now, lying parallel to each other and somewhere along the line Andrew’s taken one of Neil’s hands to play with his fingers and stare at, and Neil is finding it harder and harder not to get distracted. “But I do not know if I can trust you if I want to try something new.”

“Why?” Neil’s voice is softer now, hoarse and barely above a whisper, all frustration far gone.

“You have a martyr complex.” Neil opens his mouth to protest, but Andrew reaches the hand not currently occupied with his and places an index finger over his lips to shut him up. Neil kisses it without even thinking. “I do not trust you not to get too distracted by my progress. You think about my boundaries so much that I cannot trust you not to forget your own.”

Neil is holding Andrew’s hand to his mouth now, kissing his palm and sliding his own spare hand against it while Andrew’s other hand bends and stretches his fingers. For the first time that night Neil realises how intimate this is, how much trust every touch and every word possesses, and though he's never quite forgot it, sometimes he doesn't quite realise the extent of such a thing. 

“I’ve never heard you say no.” Andrew finishes with, and Neil knows the hidden meaning behind that. ‘I need you to be able to say no.’ 

“I’ve never needed to,” he replies, kissing the tips of each of Andrew’s fingers, because it's the truth and he knows that what Andrew needs is reassurance and honesty, so that's what he’ll give him.

“Let’s make a new deal.” Neil finally suggests, and this, this, is enough to make Andrew’s gaze finally shift to his face again. And it's good, feeling the glare of hazel eyes silently encouraging him to continue. “I promise to always say no when I need to, no matter what we’re doing. And in return, you can promise to always respect that no,” he states, quickly adding on the end: “not that I don't trust you not to respect that no anyway but you're the best person I know at keeping promises.”

He knows he’s said something right when Andrew’s face stops looking bored. There’s still no determinable expression etched into his features, but it's no longer stuck in such a tight leash, instead appearing calmer and yet angrier all at once. 

“I hate you.” Comes the reply, solid and reassuring as ever. “167%.”

“Is that a deal?” Neil simply asks, pulling on both of his hands so that he can hold both of his and Andrew’s close to his chest, a ghost of a smile hanging off the corner of his lips.

“Deal.” Andrew responds, leaning instantly forward and kissing Neil like he's stuck in a desert and Neil is an oasis - everything he wants and everything he can't have. Everything he doesn't want to want. A pipe-dream.


End file.
